


All Your Darkest Roads

by MalevolentReverie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Alpha Rey (Star Wars), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, CEO Kylo Ren, Dominant Kylo Ren, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hiatus, Kylo is a dick, MalRev Lite, Moral Dilemmas, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Office, Older Man/Younger Woman, Omega Kylo Ren, POV First Person, POV Kylo Ren, POV Rey (Star Wars), Power Imbalance, Power Play, Sexism, Slow Burn, Still Has “Dark” Elements, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: Alpha Rey is taken on as an intern for the largest nuclear waste disposal company in the country. She thinks it’s good luck, but the wealthy CEO is an Omega with an axe to grind.HIATUS 7/11/20
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 250
Kudos: 472





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i’m here to torture u w more slow burn

“Too stupid.”

Careless, I toss another resume to the floor. It flutters just out of reach of my assistant, who nearly falls flat on his face trying to catch it, tripping over his new Berlutis. I hope they scuff.

“She went to Harvard, sir,” Hux says, clipped. He swipes the resume from the black floor and adds it to his folder. “I wouldn’t say that’s a university for _stupid_ people.”

“It’s where _you_ went.” I raise my eyebrows, meeting his green eyes as I casually drop the next resume. Northwestern. Absolutely not. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Point proven.”

Hux’s pale face floods red like a stop sign I’d like to plow through in my Range Rover. He grumbles as he picks up the resume and I move onto the next: an Omega from some doldrums in the Midwest. Cute. She thinks her pitiful insignificance will help get her foot in the door—that I’ll give her a chance.

I toss the resume off the other side of my desk, just to let Hux get a little exercise. He huffs and obeys.

“Don’t we have anything _interesting_?” I sigh. “Someone missing a limb? An eye? Something to help our image?”

“Omegas are always a safe bet,” pipes up my second assistant, Phasma. She’s seated across my cavernous office with an iPad out on her lap, watching Hux dance around the room collecting the discarded intern resumes.

“You know how I loathe female Omegas, Phasma.” I lean back in my chair, pivoting to gaze out across Seattle. It’s raining. Big surprise. “And I won’t have an Alpha annoying the shit out of me all year, either. I suppose we can take on another _Beta_.”

We lapse into silence. Hux clicks across the floor to the shredded in the corner, near some very expensive vases I brought back from my trip to India. I gaze at them as if they might give me a bright idea—but I can only think of how I’ll enjoy tormenting Hux if he accidentally knocks one over. I could buy fifty more. Insist they’re priceless. Position them to be broken, then unleash hell when they are.

“Um… Mister Ren?”

My chair squeaks as I slowly pivot to face a current intern hiding in the far corner of my office. Short, a bit dull, good grades. Omega woman.

I rest my chin on my fingers, massaging my temple when she freezes up. Speak. Speak. “Speak.”

The girl jumps and drops the folders she’s holding. Patience slipping, I massage harder like it might keep me from flinging the Newton’s cradle on my desk at her head. Fucking—use your fucking voice. Don’t stare at me. Don’t stutter. _Talk_.

Phasma takes pity as she sometimes does and helps the girl pick up her shit. Exhaling through my teeth, I turn to face the window once more. I fucking hate interns.

“My friend—my friend is an Alpha woman.”

Hux stiffens. He turns so fast that he knocks over a vase and it shatters on my newly waxed floor, shards flying in every direction. He drops a loud curse unbecoming of a Harvard graduate, and I am briefly torn between tormenting him and tormenting my intern.

The scuffle of Hux hurrying to clean up the mess echoes through my office. Lights from the surrounding high rises dance along my desk and I consider for a moment: an Alpha woman. Wouldn’t she be fun to degrade? As much as I detest the women of my kind, I truly _hate_ their Alpha counterparts. Passionately.

I drum my fingers on my desk, still gazing out the window. “And?”

“She… well, she’s going to be a civil engineer, but I’m sure working here would be great. And she went to Columbia. She would be a great asset—”

“How old?”

“Twenty-one?”

Hm.

I snap my fingers and the intern comes running, heels tapping in a frenzy. Her name tag says ‘Rose Tico’. I think Phasma found her—I usually don’t bother myself with selecting interns, but after our recent accident a la Lake Karachay… I’ve been taking an interest in finding a pretty face for my company. Something sympathetic.

Rose hastily takes out her cell phone and brings up a picture of a bland brunette riddled with freckles. I suppose nuclear waste disposal doesn’t attract supermodels, but I wish, just once, I could find one that isn’t a chore to look at.

“I see she doesn’t know her way around Sephora.”

“I can help her,” Rose blurts. “This was an off day. We just got back from a soccer game.”

Poor makeup application aside, I’m interested by the idea of her. I take Rose’s phone and scroll through a few more pictures of the girl. Plain. Bland. No brand, but I catch a glimpse of her registration bracelet. Hm, hm, _hm_. Could be concealing the brand with makeup but judging by her eyeliner, she isn’t skilled enough.

I toss the phone on my desk. “What else?”

“She volunteers at the animal shelter, she’s really nice, taking a break from school—”

“I don’t give a shit. Has she ever held a job?”

“Yes, yes.” Rose nods fast. “She’s a mechanic. Car mechanic. And she worked at Target.”

A smile slowly spreads across my mouth as I continue drumming my fingers on my desk. Unqualified, unprepared. If anything, I can enjoy systematically grinding some idealistic baby Alpha into the dirt. Watch her squirm. I do so enjoy watching Alphas get their comeuppance.

I nudge the phone. “Fine. Tell her to come to Seattle for the security clearances and background check.”

Rose thanks me profusely before she leaves through the enormous double doors. I hear her on the phone before they close, squealing to her friend about the ‘opportunity.’ I’d ask for her name, but… I really don’t care to know it. I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay tonight while I think up insulting nicknames.

Phasma folds her arms, casting me a sideways glance. “You _hate_ Alphas, Ren.”

I nod, still smiling, which must be an unsettling sight for my assistants. “I know.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, leaving the same way as the intern. I watch the doors for another moment before unleashing hell on Hux, who is still struggling to clean the floor despite his Harvard education. When in Rome.


	2. Cs-137

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOHOHOHOHOHO

“He _hates_ Alphas so just… try to tone it down.”

Two weeks after Rose got my foot in the door, I’m heading in to my new job with her, rolling my eyes as she repeats the same thing for the hundredth time. I know he hates Alphas. Kylo Ren hates Alphas, the sky is blue, and the first law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created or destroyed.

These are all things I know like the back of my hand. I can deal with an ornery Omega.

It’s a rainy day in Seattle to no one’s great surprise but I’m excited despite the gloomy overcast sky. It’s a good job. Internship. It’s paid and we get health insurance so I’m more than happy to do it. The building is new, with shiny gray floors that click under my heels and people who look busy bustling around. Rose leads me to the elevators.

“We do a lot of things like filing and running errands, but sometimes we can sit in and listen to meetings.” She punches the up button and points at my face. “Don’t get all self-righteous like you do.”

“Ouch.” I shiver and cross my arms, looking around the elevator as we step in. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just for you.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“Unless he’s rude.”

Rose groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.

The elevator picks up a few passengers on its way up to the top floor. This whole building is dedicated to Kylo Ren’s business: nuclear waste disposal, which isn’t glamorous but is inarguably lucrative. It’s a great experience to add to my resume. Nuclear engineers make bank—maybe I’ll change focus.

My scattered thoughts skitter back together when the door opens and Rose leads me out. We’re going to be working on the floor below this one with the other interns but she wants to introduce me to everyone beforehand.

That’s good with me. I like meeting new people.

“Rey, this is Bazine,” Rose offers as we approach a huge desk, all dark wood. “She’s Mister Ren’s secretary, and he has two assistants.”

 _Two_? Why? I smile and shake hands with Bazine, who is tall and slim and wearing heels with a red sole that I think are expensive. Her eyeliner is flawless—her entire face is flawless—and I’m glad Rose helped me with my makeup this morning. Apparently I need some work in that department, but putting on makeup is sort of pointless when you’re working under a car all day.

Bazine gestures to a big door off to the left side of her desk, matching one on the other side. Everyone here is wearing a dress—was I supposed to wear a dress?

“You’re welcome to wait,” she says, “but Mister Ren is unavailable right now.”

“Will he be back soon?” Rose asks, frowning.

“I’m not sure—it has something to do with the federal contract in New Mexico.”

“Oh, the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant?”

Bazine gets a look on her face like she’s about to be hit by a car. She gives a halfhearted shrug and Rose awkwardly says she’ll just give me the rest of the tour.

“Hux does all his meetings and stuff,” Rose mutters as she guides me down a hallway. “And Phasma handles the rest. Bazine is just here for show. Her dad is a Senator.”

“Oh. Where?”

“New Mexico, where most waste goes. There are a hundred and twenty-one sites across the country and we own the vast majority or them. Well… Mister Ren owns them.”

I nod, pretending I understand. Neat.

Rose shows me around the top floor, from break rooms to other executive offices. The company, Obninsk, has a board of directors but Kylo owns controlling stake in it and created it himself.

“Named after the first nuclear power plant,” Rose supplies before I ask.

We’re going down a floor to a much less intimidating place full of cubicles and offices, but everything still has that cold edge to it, including the floors. People glance at me as they walk past and some linger on my registration bracelet.

It’s not a big deal; people are naturally curious. I tug down the sleeve of my sweater to help hide the bracelet. It’s not a big deal. People stare.

Rose brings me to a collection of cubicles towards the back where one person is sitting. He stands up and smiles and shakes my hand— _Hi I’m Finn_.

“Nice to meet you,” I offer. “Have you been here long?”

“Just a few months, like Rose. The other intern quit a couple days ago.” Finn shrugs and pulls at his green tie like it’s choking him.

“Finn works for the National Park Service,” Rose says, beaming up at him. “He used to work at White Sands but they’re in the process of reassigning him, so he’s here for the time being.”

Huh. Seems like a weird place for him to work. But he seems nice and Rose seems into him—again, weird, judging by the registration bracelet he’s wearing that says he’s a male Omega. Lots of aberrant people seem to work here.

We chat for a couple minutes about school and work and what we’d like to do before Rose brings me around to show me more break rooms and people who shoot me sideways glances. I’m done with my Bachelor’s and taking a break before I decide where to go next—and I’m hoping this internship will open some doors and build some bridges.

Mister Ren can’t discriminate against me for being a female Alpha. That stuff can slip by in smaller companies but there’s no way it can here.

Back up to the top floor we go, and Bazine motions for us to go into the main office. Rose takes a second to pick lint off my sweater and grabs my face in both hands, eyebrows raised.

“Be nice,” she warns.

“For the deductible in our health insurance, I’ll kiss his feet.”

She laughs but gives me one more serious look before letting go. I’m not _mean_ or _self-righteous._ Where did she get that from?

Rose opens the door to the office to let me in first, and waves to Bazine before slipping in behind me.

It’s a huge room, cavernous and palatial like the rest of the place. Massive windows overlook a Seattle which is still beleaguered by rain and thick clouds blotting out the sun. A big desk sits in the center of the room with a high-backed black chair and in it sits a very large man, fingers in a steeple, sharp eyes watching me turn in a mesmerized circle.

The desk is big and oddly devoid of those comforts most office employees have; little baubles and framed pictures. He has a Newton’s cradle and a Mac, and some assorted folders neatly stacked off to the side. Large paintings take up most of the wall space, modern stuff that isn’t really my favorite, and to the far left there are a couple empty chairs.

Mister Ren has a registration bracelet like I do but isn’t hiding the Omega brand on his neck. It’s black burned flesh that means he violated some dumb law and went to a camp. He glares at me from behind his long fingers.

Rose clears her throat. “Um—sir, this is—”

“Go.”

His voice is deep and hard and makes me shudder. I cast Rose a terrified look as she leaves, and she offers me a equally terrified shrug in return before the door shuts. I’ve never met an Omega like this. What am I supposed to—

“Miss Niima.”

I jump and my heels click quick as I pivot to face him. He’s still staring, tapping his fingers.

“Sit.”

Suppressants don’t stop me from balking at the order. I’m not _supposed_ to do what other people tell me to do, and it’s something I’ve spent the past couple months trying to unlearn. It’s not fair for me to see him as an Omega. I don’t own him.

Tense, I make my way to one of the white chairs before his desk and take a seat. My heart pounds, thousands of years of evolution barking that I should put him in his place. Being an Alpha has so far been pure fucking torture.

Mister Ren leans back, tilting his head. His black hair is neatly parted and _full_ of product and I have to be honest, it looks fabulous.

“You went to Columbia,” he states.

“Yes, sir. I have a Bachelor’s in civil engineering.”

He nods, gaze wandering away from me to a painting across the room that’s just a red slash on a black canvas.

“Played soccer,” he continues.

“Football.” It comes out automatically and I hurry to explain. “Sorry; where I’m from we call it—”

“I don’t care where you’re from.”

He doesn’t look at me when he interrupts, but I’m cowed and nod and shut up. Okay.

Mister Ren is silent for a couple more minutes. He drums his fingers on the desk and keeps his head turned like he’s daring me to look at the brand on his neck. I do my best _not_ to, wringing my fingers and wrestling the powerful urge to tell him off. I _need_ health insurance. The stuff at Firestone wasn’t great and I have hips worse than a ninety year old man.

He waves a hand dismissively, still studying the painting.

“Get out.”

I hesitate, then nod and mutter ‘nice to meet you’ in my haste to escape. I hurry to the doors and I’m almost free when he calls to me. 

“Miss Niima.”

I turn, stumbling. “Yes? Sorry.”

“Wear a higher heel or don’t bother coming back tomorrow.” He rolls his tongue inside his cheek and his eyes roam down my outfit. “And learn how to walk in them. You look like a fawn that’s lost it’s mother.”

Mister Ren slowly turns his chair away from me, and I nod, mumbling and rushing out of the office. Okay. Good. That was—that was the worst two minutes of my entire life.


	3. C-14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leaning big into the enemies to lovers here jsyk

Rose drags me to Marshall’s after work to find a pair of heels and I complain the entire time. I can’t resist—he’s _rude_ and there’s no way I can let that go. I complain on the drive home and complain during dinner with her, and eventually her eyes glaze over and she snaps at me to shut up.

“He’s going to make another snide comment,” I groan, checking my black heels for the hundredth time. “I bet he expects me to wear something expensive. Kate Spade.”

“Kate Spade is cheap as hell, Rey,” Rose calls from the bathroom.

“Since when?! I saw a purse at Macy’s the other day and it was three _hundred_ dollars!”

Seattle is way too expensive for me to live alone on what I make so I’m staying with Rose for now. Still hunting for my own place. It’s going fine—we’re both medicated so there’s no danger of us accidentally fucking each other. Yikes.

Rose leans back to look at me and bursts out laughing. She shakes her head, wrapping her hair up in a towel.

“Hux wears a new pair of three _thousand_ dollar Berlutis every other week, and you should see the Tom Ford suits Kylo wears.”

“Isn’t Berluti pasta sauce?”

“…Rey, that’s Bertolli.”

“Oh.” I sniff, curling my legs up on our couch. “Whatever. It’s not a fashion magazine and he’s not Miranda Priestly.”

Ridiculous. I don’t have the money for three thousand dollar shoes and I don’t care who Tom Ford is. Expensive clothes are dumb.

I flip through channels until Rose plops next to me and takes the remote. I don’t care about pasta sauce shoes. I just want to learn some things about the nuclear industry before I apply to grad school.

—•—

We get to work in the morning and are immediately sent out to get coffee. Normally I wouldn’t mind the walk but my new heels are tight in the toe and I wobble most of the way, whining when we get back with two trays of drinks.

Rose rolls her eyes in the elevator. “Get used to it. You have to dress nice in this industry.”

“I miss crawling under cars more than I thought I would.” I sigh, slipping my foot from a shoe to curl my toes. “These things are terrible.”

“Suck it up, buttercup.”

We step out onto the top floor and Bazine waves from the reception desk. She chats with Rose as they sort the drinks and I wince, reaching down to massage my foot again. Ow. Ow.

“Rey?” Bazine points to the big door. “Mister Ren wants to see you. He just messaged me.”

 _Ugh_. I’m still wobbling bad and now that my feet hurt it’s even harder to walk correctly in these fucking things. I exchange a look with Rose and she shrugs and gives me a sympathetic pat on the arm.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself on the walk to the door. Ignore your feet. It’s fine. Stand tall and look him in the eye and don’t be intimidated. You’re an _Alpha_. The world is your oyster. Don’t say that out loud. He’s going to hate you.

It groans when I open it, skating lightly across the floor. I peek inside and see him reading something on his computer, long face blank and bored. Black suit. Fancy silver watch on the same wrist as his registration bracelet. He’s one of those that doesn’t hide his brand and it’s kind of intimidating.

Mr. Ren doesn’t look at me when he speaks.

“Are those block heels?”

I blink and lift my foot. Uh… “I think?”

He doesn’t respond, but his mouse clicks a couple times. I stand there in awkward silence, pain creeping up my calves to the small of my back. Do I say something? Leave? My feet really hurt.

“Sir—um—was there something you needed?”

No reply again. He keeps busy on his computer. He still hasn’t looked at me.

Unsure, I lift a foot to ease some of the pain, then the other, then turn for the door. If he’s not going to say anything I’ll just—

“I don’t remember telling you to leave.”

I stop.

When I look back, he’s still not looking at me. His dark eyes roam across the monitor, one hand on the mouse and the other drumming languidly on his desk.

“Was there something you needed?” I ask, tersely.

“I can’t seem to remember.” Mr. Ren motions toward the far corner of the room. “Why don’t you go stand over there until I do?”

Annoyed, I incline my head and walk over to the two weird chairs on the side of the office. I go to sit down in one and I’m sharply rebuked.

“ _Stand_ , Miss Niima.”

“Sir, I just walked all the way—”

“I don’t care.”

My blood bubbles but I clench my jaw and stand next to the chair, hands clasped behind my back. I’m wearing a black dress today, just to look nice, and he’s being a complete asshole. Maybe I don’t want this job. I’ll be better off at McDonald’s.

Cramps continue up my legs. I’m determined not to show him I’m in pain so I glare out the window at Seattle, surprisingly sunny today, and ignore the urge to lift my heels. Fine. I’ll stand here all day and listen to him type. Good for the spine.

The way his computer is angled makes his eyeline roam just past me on the wall with the stupid black painting with a red slash. He clicks around, alternating typing and clicking his tongue, and the office is otherwise silent. It’s so empty—and he keeps it cold. But I don’t care. I’ll stand here forever.

…Maybe. My legs _really_ hurt.

One of the door opens and grabs my attention for a blissful second. A red-haired guy peers inside, registration bracelet clicking on the edge of the door: Hux, one of Kylo’s assistants. His shoes don’t look like they should cost three grand.

“…Are you busy, sir?” he asks after a weird pause.

“No.” Kylo beckons him without looking up. Does he look anyone in the eye? “What do you want?”

Hux slips in carrying an iPad, thin features pinched like he doesn’t understand why I’m around. I don’t either. Please tell me to leave.

He circles Kylo’s desk and that earns a glare. Hux backpedals around their front, huffing.

“Update on that zone we’re trying to build in,” he says, facing the screen towards Kylo.

“What of it?”

“ _Well_ , it’s a reserve for an endangered species of tarantula, and we’re being threatened with legal action if we proceed. The Resistance already lawyered up and the state government isn’t happy with the proposal, either.”

I frown, cocking my head. All that over some little bug? Huh.

Kylo finally peels his eyes away from his computer to check the iPad, scowl deepening. Hux clasps his hands behind his back, glancing in my direction, and I try to smile. He doesn’t smile back. Cool.

“Fuck,” Mr. Ren snaps after another minute. He throws the iPad at Hux, who narrowly catches it, and sharply gets to his feet, pointing in his face. “I’m going to see this fucking waste site be built if it’s the last goddamn thing I do. Find me another hippy-dippy scientist to inspect the site and get a price for a clean report.”

“We already have five reports, sir. A sixth—”

“And see what strings we can pull in the state senate. They’re fucking tarantulas; what does Poe Dameron care about fucking _tarantulas_?”

I’m so shocked by what I’m hearing that I don’t get it for the first handful of minutes. Pulling strings? Pricing for clean reports? Is he going to bribe someone? Isn’t that illegal?

Hux just nods along with everything he says and doesn’t seem bothered by any of it. I shift uncomfortably, now from more than one thing, debating saying something. I hate this place, I think. Maybe I’ll quit. Sorry Rose.

“Isn’t that illegal?” I blurt.

The conversation stops. Mr. Ren is standing in front of the windows with his arms crossed and turns slowly to look at me, fixating me with a glare that melts holes in my eyes. All kinds of weird sensations skitter around in my stomach and up into my chest. He’s big. Angry.

Hux mutters an excuse and ducks out. I watch him leave and quickly look over to see Kylo approaching, expression darkening. His shadow precedes him and gradually eclipses me where I’m standing beside the chair. At least I’m not so worried about my legs.

Mr. Ren raises his eyebrows. Meandering closer. His arms are still crossed over his broad chest.

“What did you just say?”

“I just—I don’t want you to get in any legal trouble,” I stammer. Blood drains from my face. “Sorry.”

His shiny black shoes click ominously on the floor. Maybe he’ll throw me out one of his very clean, very large windows, and I’ll gracefully splat on the pavement. It looks like he’s going to. I’m surprised he isn’t baring his teeth at me.

Kylo comes to a stop not a foot in front of me. I can’t see his face, just his black tie and lapel pin with an American flag, but the proximity has me on edge. He smells good. He _looked_ like he’d smell good, but his cologne is heavy like he’s worried someone will pick up the Omega pheromones.

I can’t. I mean, I can—it’s like pine; like Christmas—but I’m not about to tell him that. _You smell like Christmas_. Jesus Christ.

His long fingers drum on his biceps while he stares at me, silent and unmoving. I stare at his lapel pin and start singing the national anthem in my head to keep myself distracted from his scent. It’s getting stronger now, melting into other homey smells like brownies and those freshener things Rose adds to the laundry, and it’s making my mouth tingle.

“Where did you get those shoes?”

I blink, swallowing. “Uh… Marshall’s.”

“Your legs are trembling.” He shifts a step closer, lowering his voice. “Can you not even handle walking in three inch heels, Miss Niima?”

“I—I walked to the coffee shop—”

“Bazine wears five inch stilettos five days a week and doesn’t _tremble_ like she’s just been birthed in a field.”

I roll my tongue inside my cheek, biting in a retort. Fucking prick. Spider-killing, sexist, _prick._

Mr. Ren sidles nearer. He’s almost touching me. If he does I’m going to punch him in the throat.

“I’ve been thinking of nicknames for you, Miss Niima,” he murmurs. “Something to make you feel welcome here. Respected.”

“Rey is fine.”

“It’s not very fitting for an _Alpha_.” Fingers rub the sleeve of my dress, and I find myself unwilling to punch him. “With the way you always seem so lost and the way your bony legs quiver—I think I’m going to call you _Bambi_.”

“My name is Rey,” I repeat, coldly.

“Where did you get this dress? Feels like they cut it out of a rucksack.”

I’m wound so tight I think I might snap, so I roughly pull away, staggering back a step or two. Mr. Ren watches me smugly and puts his hands in his pockets. I hate him. I really hate him.

I mutter and brush past him for the door without looking up. I hate him. I hate him.

“I’ve brushed up on my famous horses,” he calls. “Seabiscuit, Secretariat, Man o’ War. Would you prefer one of those instead, Miss Niima?”

My blood pounds in my ears. I yank open the door and rush out, straight to the elevator without a word to Bazine.

I lean on the back wall, shaking with rage, and close my eyes. He doesn’t care about what I heard. He’s not afraid of me—and I guess he doesn’t need to be.


End file.
